


Last Desperate Hour

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hatesex, Mention of pregnancy, They also feel more tender towards each other later on, it’s dimigard and they’re having hatesex at Gronder you know what you’re getting into
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25668766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: At Gronder Field, Edelgard and Dimitri exchange blows... and something a little more heated. A few months later, Dimitri discovers the consequences of their tryst, which could even change the outcome of the war.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 5
Kudos: 74
Collections: Anonymous





	Last Desperate Hour

**Author's Note:**

> If you don’t like dimigard and aren’t a fan of hatesex but you’re still here, reading this because it makes you angry, well. Your kink is not my kink and that’s okay, I guess. But, to quote my younger self, all flames will be consumed by the void.
> 
> This is a fill for the kinkmeme!

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd trudges through the churned earth of Gronder, the ghosts of Duscur at his heels. 

There was a time when Dimitri tried to reason with them. He tried to tell them to wait, to have patience, to be gentle with a boy who couldn’t yet be the man they wanted. But now, as he cuts a man down with a blow that severs his spine and sends tremors up his spear, Dimitri knows better. They never wanted a man. Men are weak, hesitant creatures. The best they can hope for, he thinks, is a beast.

He looks down at the soldier gasping blood into the earth, watches them stare wild-eyed into the distance, and steps over them. Let them be someone else’s ghost. 

Glenn appears behind a mage in a veiled hat and holds his hands over their eyes. There’s an open wound in Glenn’s side, spilling blood that never touches the ground, but Glenn smiles in triumph as Dimitri throws his spear. The mage goes down. Glenn moves on. His father’s headless body kneels before a woman of Faerghus, and her ghost rises from the corpse, looks at Dimitri with dark, wild eyes. Her lips move, but he already knows the command. 

_See it done,_ the ghosts say, and Dimitri coats his armor with blood as he cleaves a path through the chaos, through the muck and over the scrabbling bodies, until he reaches the low pavilion where Edelgard waits for him.

She’s as beautiful and terrible as she is in his nightmares, those nights when he can get any sleep at all, and when she sees him cross the threshold of the pavilion, she does not draw back in fear.

Dimitri parries her blow, but she has the strength of her own crest on her side, and when her axe and the Areadbhar meet, the tines of their weapons wriggle like live things. They cling to each other, as though they’re trying to fuse into one horrible, malignant whole, and Dimitri wrenches back with all the strength of his crest, only to drag Edelgard a step closer. Close enough that he can drop the spear, let their weapons shiver together as he wraps his hands around her slender throat. Edelgard’s toes scrape at the stone, and she grabs his arms to hold herself up, staring at him with her cold, violet eyes. 

Dimitri takes a breath. Outside the pavilion, the ghosts howl.

Edelgard smiles. “I would have killed you by now,” she says, and when Dimitri releases her, she keeps her hands on his arms, digging in her nails until she is safe on the ground. Then she slaps him, hard, and grabs a fistful of Dimitri’s hair even as he digs his fingers into her thighs. She hisses out a curse in Adrestian as they push each other up against the raised wall between them and the battle. 

Edelgard tastes like salt, like tears, and Dimitri bites savagely down her neck as she rakes her nails over his scalp. They tumble to the floor together, breathing hard and cursing each other in hoarse, broken voices, and when Edelgard yanks at his belt, Dimitri pushes up the gown under her armor and holds her by the hips, watching her. 

“Again you hesitate,” she snarls, and Dimitri removes his gauntlets, runs a gloved finger along the slick heat of her. 

“Is it killing that excites you?” he asks. He slips a finger inside, fucks her with it, jerking roughly at her clit. “Is it death? How much blood must be shed to satiate you, I wonder.”

“Just yours,” she says, and her chest heaves as she knocks Dimitri’s hand out of the way. She teases herself with two fingers, sprawled beneath him with her dress a blossom of blood on the floor, and Dimitri kisses her only to feel the sting of teeth on his lower lip. She moans, and he holds himself over her, runs his gloved hand over his cock. She pulls him close with her heels digging into his thighs, and Dimitri pushes into her with a gasp that draws the air out of his body. 

There’s nothing graceful about this. They rut together like beasts as their people die on the field around them, marking each other’s bodies, drawing blood with nails and teeth even as they moan with the pleasure of it. Edelgard comes twice, shuddering and dragging him closer, and the second time she seizes around him, Dimitri shouts his release through her fingers in his mouth. He bites down, and she whips her hand out and slaps him again, sharp enough to sting. 

They lie there a minute longer, breathless, before Dimitri draws back. He’s shaking, but he isn’t sure why. Perhaps with disappointment, because he knows that he isn’t going to kill her today, and the ghosts will remain, hounding him until he can do this right. 

Edelgard sits up, still flushed and panting, and reaches for her axe.

Dimitri leaves the pavilion before she can strike, and she does not follow him.

***

Edelgard turns Dimitri’s knife over in her hands. The blade flashes red as it reflects her coat, which hangs over her uniform with only two narrow slits for her arms. Perhaps she’s trying to make a point, but it could just be that she knows how she looks in red, the fine cloth sliding over her shoulders like a curtain. Dimitri watches her and wonders if perhaps he should have arranged this with Byleth after all—With Edelgard so close, he feels unmoored, drifting loose.

“I’d forgotten,” Edelgard said, in an odd, quiet voice. “I always thought he was so strange, that boy with the knife. I lost it, you know.” She glances up, and Dimitri’s breath hitches as he meets her gaze. “When I was young. I suppose I should thank you for the replacement.”

“It doesn’t have to end like this,” Dimitri says, and Edelgard smiles down at her own reflection in the knife.

“Like what, Dimitri? Two old friends sharing clumsy metaphors, or two old friends killing each other tomorrow, in the streets of Enbarr?” She tilts her head. Loose strands of white hair slide over her eyes. “You are not so eager to kill as you used to be, it seems.”

“No,” Dimitri says. “I am not.”

Rodrigue has fallen. The ghosts have faded, no longer bound to a willing host, and now Dimitri is only just beginning to discover who he is under the rage and grief, the obsessive desire for revenge. But there is still a war tearing across Fodlan, and he cannot afford to dwell on it for long. He feels half formed, a colt staggering alone in an open field before the bow.

“But I will,” Dimitri says. “If I must.”

Edelgard tucks the dagger beneath her coat. “That’s good. I would hate to kill a man without conviction.”

“And I would hate to kill the woman who taught me how to dance.”

Edelgard’s smile fades. “You’re a terrible dancer, Dimitri.” He laughs a little, and she reaches out to touch his face, but draws back before her fingers can brush his jaw. “And that girl died long ago.”

“I thought the same of myself, once,” Dimitri says, and when he steps forward, Edelgard takes a measured step back. “We can end this, El.”

“Yes. We will.” Edelgard hesitates, rocking back on one heel, and crosses the distance between him to press her lips to his cheek. Her fingers slide under Dimitri’s ear, teasing his long blond hair, and when she kisses him again, he parts his lips for her, tastes her on his tongue.

There is silence in the field beyond the border of Enbarr, dark and dotted with fireflies, and Dimitri can hear Edelgard’s ragged gasp of breath as they stumble back over the grass. She pushes him down, and he falls to his knees easily. Too easily. She places a foot on his chest and lowers him to his back on the damp earth, and he looks up into her moonlit face as she regards him carefully, her gaze distant.

“El,” he says, and the desperation in his voice must reach her, because she sighs and crouches over him. She straddles his waist so that her coat slides over his body like a blanket, pooling at his neck. She kisses him again, and there’s still a hunger there, her teeth dragging at his lip, her fingers tight in his hair. He raises his hands to her waist, and she pins them down on the ground behind his head, her gaze sharp.

“No,” she says, and Dimitri holds himself there as she kisses him, her slim, calloused hands gliding over his armor. He wants to grab her by the horned crown and pull her close, perhaps even to drag her into camp to sit out the battle while they extend their useless, circuitous attempts at diplomacy, but all he does is clench his fingers as Edelgard’s breath quickens and she leans over him, the curve of her belly brushing his skin.

Dimitri jerks, and Edelgard stares at him, her hands on his shoulders. He searches her face, and she glances down, touches her belly under the coat.

“It isn’t—“ Dimitri says.

“Will it change things if I say yes?” she asks.

“I. Yes. I think.” He takes her hips in his hands regardless, and Edelgard grinds down on his cock, watching him. “El, I can’t just—“

“I can,” she says, and Dimitri’s breath comes short as she bears down on him again. She raises his right hand to her mouth and kisses it, her gaze unwavering. “Stop trembling, Dimitri.”

“Please,” Dimitri whispers. “El.”

But Edelgard doesn’t answer, and the night closes over them, dark and cold and scattered with stars.

***

The next morning, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd kneels before the throne of the emperor of Adrestia, the blade of her axe resting lightly on his neck. His armor is battered, his cloak a ruin at his back, and even with Ashe’s bow trained on Edelgard’s throat and the professor standing behind him, sword in hand, Dedue at his back, Dimitri can’t bring himself to pick up his spear.

“Again, you hesitate,” Edelgard says. Her hair falls loose down her back, her cloak slung over her shoulder, and he can see now where her armor has been let out to account for the swell of her stomach. She tips his chin up with the blade of her axe, and the sun rises through the window at her back, bathing her in light.

Slowly, Dimitri raises his hand for his soldiers to fall back, and Edelgard draws her axe. She holds onto it as she bends down to grab a handful of Dimitri’s hair, and as she presses her mouth to his, he feels her lips curve into a triumphant smile.


End file.
